Long Absence Yet Continued Pursuit

Looking back on my entries from this summer, it does in some ways seem incredibly hopeless and daunting, but it's not. It’s amazing to think that God prepared me so much so that I could walk in confidence of His protection and goodness, even as I experienced the most faith-shaking summer of my life. I became very aware this summer that when all of what I never thought should happen did so right before my eyes, and so many of my hopes crashed, that my foundation was solid. When I got home, I didn’t know what to do, in fact, I questioned and grappled with feeling guilty and unworthy of the life that I have. I learned so much about suffering. How terribly I hate suffering. I flinch and I squirm and I resist, but sometimes it seems like we can’t avoid it.

For me, it doesn’t actually seem like I’m experiencing suffering until after the fact. Usually in the midst of extreme pain or heartbreak, I somehow get this divine ability to press on—to move forward. While I was in India, I realized how hard it was, but I was walking solely in the power of the Holy Spirit. It’s not until the adjustment back to “normal” life that I realize how intensely I needed and clung to my Sustainer. For some reason though, the coming back to America from India shocked me into this time—maybe even season—of unidentifiable and unrecognizable pain. Never before have I avoided the phone calls of my best friend. Never before had I really tried to search my heart for explanations or understanding and come up with nothing. Never before in the midst of such suffering have I had such a lack of zeal and hope. Never before had I really wished people didn’t ask or want to know how I’m doing.

I found myself crying unexpectedly (maybe not surprising to some) having no logical links to why I was quiet or frustrated or unmotivated or apathetic. I wish that I could tie every one of my reactions or lack thereof to something direct, but most of the time, it didn’t exist. If any of you know me, you know that a lot of the time, it’s really hard for me to be patient with myself. I hate giving things time because I so value closure. I love it when things end clearly—all squared away. I get a really pathetic sense of satisfaction from doing something like crossing a task off my list. Truth be told, I sometimes even add a completed task to my list just to cross it off. I love finality.

My experience in South Asia is not something that has ended clearly or something that squares itself away nicely. I’ve dragged it into my every day. So you can see what my struggle in returning has been here. My transition home from India has not been easy, in fact, it’s been really hard—probably one of the hardest transitions or experiences in general that I’ve ever had to go through because, literally, I know nothing about how to best do things.

You see, God didn’t stop teaching me of Himself when I left India, He has continued working in my life here in America, too. Now, three, almost four, months after I return, I can finally say that I’m doing “well,” and not for one second was there a moment that I doubted God’s control or His goodness. Through it all, I have learned to recognize how lost I truly am, and how desperately I need Jesus. I have recognized my deep deep love for Him, my deep deep desire for more of Him, and my deep deep longing for all to know Him. I have learned to believe the Gospel all over again. Jesus came to a world broken, abused, oppressed, cruel, and sinful, to accomplish His rescue plan. Those around Him didn’t see it at first, in fact those walking right beside Him the entire time didn’t see it clearly, but He had a plan for the redemption of His people—a plan that made Him the Servant of All. It is in the pain of shattered dreams and in the pain of dwindling hope that I have discovered on a new level how beautiful the Gospel is. How beautiful it is that God pursues us relentlessly even when we stray so easily. As I walk with Jesus—stumble, really, I don’t see His plan quite yet. I know the end—that He will return and make all things new, but until then I will continue to walk blindly, trusting His lead; for He has a plan. How humbling it is that He has chosen me to be a part of it.

“’You are my servant, I have chosen you and not cast you off’; fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’” –Isaiah 41:9b-10

I Dare You to Move...

Grief

Where do I even begin? As soon as we landed in Newark, New Jersey I had about 6 million thoughts cross my mind, but the one that dominated over the little ones was this: "I can't believe that these two worlds exist at the same time."

I remembered suddenly myself about a month earlier walking through City Center mall in Mumbai--a mall with ice cream kiosks and marble floors. Then I remember walking out of the mall to find a 6 month old baby sitting in the middle of the sidewalk completely alone. Abandoned? I looked up to widen my view of what was around me, and on the opposite side of the street was the beginning of a slum. Just one "small" slum of hundreds throughout the city. Extremes.



How could this mall--a place where the wealthy shop be located so near to the place where the poor live everyday? I just could not reconcile that in my mind. I didn't want to have to.

As our 747 descended over the New York City skyline, and the lights of the city competed with the rising sun in the east, the nagging thought of, "How can this be, Lord?" hit me hard once again. Just on the other side of the ocean, so many wouldn't even believe that a city like Mumbai even existed. To be totally honest, I've avoided processing my last 7 weeks of life. I've avoided thinking about those lying in the streets in the mornings as I ran; I've avoided thinking about where baby Rija sleeps while her mom works; I've avoided thinking about Sanjay's fear before he falls asleep at night; I've avoided thinking about the garbage on the streets and the smell of urine; I've avoided thinking about those worshiping God's made of plastic. I've avoided it all.

As puke came out of my mouth and nose two nights before we left, the tears streamed because after the most life-altering summer of my life came to a close, the only thought that I was able to think was, "Get me out of here. Get me home now." Only after a summer in India could I kill a cockroach as I threw up violently. I began to wrestle there on the bathroom floor with fear. I feared leaving Mumbai. I feared leaving so many things undone. So many people untouched. So many brokenhearted still broken. So many chains still binding. So many souls still lost. So many people that I had fallen in love with. So much of the culture that I had become so thankful for just abandoned. I wrestled with the fear of forgetting. I wrestled with the fear of returning to a life unchanged. I wrestled with the fear of sinking back into the everyday. I wrestled with the fear of never returning. Then I would throw up again, and then I would wrestle with the fear of discomfort. I would wrestle with the fear of returning and changing and remembering. I wrestled with the fear of actually going back there and loving it. So many contradicting fears. I didn't want to leave and I didn't want to stay. I feared a soft heart to Mumbai for fear of allowing God to call me to live there long-term, and two seconds later, I feared a hardened heart to Mumbai for fear of not allowing God to call me to live there long-term.

A couple days earlier, I had been working through my fear of safety. I was talking with God about why I feared for my safety so often. Why was it that for some reason that was a right that I really thought I deserved, but at the same time something I feared so very much? I'm not sure if that makes total sense, but bear with me. I began to realize that feeling immediately safe is not indicative of my circumstances. God so graciously reminded me of times throughout the summer that I really walked down the street confidently, feeling completely safe when the day before I walked in fear. I felt safe not because men weren't staring or because my purse wasn't at risk of being reached into or because there weren't children on the ground that I could trip over, but it was because I was walking in confidence of God's will for my life. I was walking with Jesus through a place that was easy to be overwhelmed by and afraid of. God began to show me that safety isn't about location physically, presently, but spiritually, eternally. I am safe in His hands. I am safe wherever I am because I am in the arms of my King, my Almighty who promises to never leave nor forsake me. It baffled me to think that I could ever feel safer in Mumbai, India than in Chicago, Illinois. After the shift from knowing that God is my Protector and my Provider and my Sustainer to really believing it, I started to realize that I don't necessarily fear for my safety, persay, but I really do fear living a "safe" life. Let me explain. I fear living in fear. It would be really scary for me to move to a place like Mumbai unable to walk confidently down the street due to my discomfort. But at the same time, I fear taking the "easy" way--not that any way is really easy at all--but I mean, playing it safe; limiting God and the capacity of His work in and through my life. I'm sure so many people have feared the same thing...settling and placing boundaries on a boundless God; but I'm actually positive that a lot of today's churched haven't feared that. A lot of the modern-day church has really failed to fear God.

A week ago last Sunday, the day after I arrived home from India, I took communion and read about the Lord's supper in 1 Corinthians 11 like I do every time I take communion. The words of Paul pierced deeper--his words like glass cut deeply into my heart and I began to grieve over the church. In verses 17-22, Paul says that when the Corinthians came together for the Lord's supper that it was not for the better, but for the worse because there were divisions among them. He said that upon coming together"it is not the Lord's supper that you are eating. For in eating, each one goes ahead with his own meal. One goes hungry, another gets drunk." (1 Co. 11:20, 21)

Woah. In this passage, Paul was saying that the Corinthians were not rightly participating in the Lord's supper because of their selfishness--they were not representing the sacrificial death of Christ and the true character of their Lord. Paul says that the few wealthy in Corinth were going ahead with their meals in complete disregard of those who were hungry and had nothing. Some even had too much and got drunk while others suffered.

I'm not sure if this is making as much sense to you as it has been to me, but I hope that it is. I don't think the edge of the glass on Paul's words were intended to just be really striking to me, but I think the sharpness of his words have huge implications for the function of our church today. Paul recounts the tradition of the Lord's supper to the Corinthians and tells them very plainly that when Jesus broke the bread that He told His disciples to "do this in remembrance of me." Paul then says that whoever takes part in the Lord's supper in an unworthy manner is guilty concerning the body and blood of the Lord. What did it mean to take communion in an unworthy manner? Paul was probably referring to the great divide between the wealthy and the poor--the acceptance of entitlement and divisiveness as opposed to adopting Christ's example of humility and selflessness.

So as I sat in church on Sunday, I felt the Lord asking that in light of the things I had experienced this summer, to "examine myself." Jesus' body was broken and His blood poured out for me. When He told me to take up my cross and follow Him, I'm certain that wasn't a call to live in ignorance and abundance, but rather in imitation of Him. What Paul is saying in these few verses is that the selfish behavior of the Corinthians was not only a sin against others, but also disrespectful to Jesus Himself. I'm still in process with what this looks like in my own life, so humbly I ask for you to join me in examining ourselves and our lives and the ways that we live to see if we are really living in true understanding and reflection of the Gospel. The Exalted one emptied Himself in our place. How should that be imitated in our daily lives in light of the great divide?

I wish that I had the answers. As I sit in my living room contemplating the extremes that I've experienced in the last two months, I am reminded of all those fears I talked about earlier. I was afraid of returning to a life unchanged. I was afraid of stepping back into the everyday. The transition has been really hard because I know that grief is normal, but finding the balance of how much is okay to grieve has been a challenge. I feel like my life has stopped in some ways. My current reality is that I'm frozen here. Here in this place where I cry when I don't want to or know why. In this place where I fail to understand myself and push others away when I feel misunderstood. In this place where I don't quite know how to pray or hand my burdens over to Abba. I feel stuck, like I'm sad--so deeply sad and grieved that I feel like life shouldn't just keep going on here; or maybe I feel like life should keep going here, but I just have no idea how to do that. I think that daily, I'm learning to trust Him while walking on untread ground. I don't know what comes next or how I'm supposed to feel or in what ways I'm supposed to respond. The real reality is that I must learn to believe that God is sovereign before I can really begin to understand myself and my own heart. While I'm not in India, He is still working there (and here), and for a short 7 weeks, I was just able to get a glimpse of His bigger picture.

Looking back, though, I have so many stories of how God has transformed my heart, increased my faith, and expanded my image of Him. He is the God who sees, the God who longs to redeem, the God who makes all things new, the God who protects and plucks from evil, He is the God who loves fiercely and deeply, the God who is jealous over His children, the God who hears and answers before we can even call, the God who does far more than we could ever ask or imagine, the God who gives abundantly, the God whose purpose stands, the God whose command does not return void, the God who heals, the God who keeps His promises, the God who comforts those who mourn, the God who loves the sojourners, the God who knows us better than we know ourselves, the Creator God, the God who longs to meet our every need and heal our every wound, the God who fights for us, the God who intercedes for us when we know not what to pray for as we ought, the God who loves me--who defines me by His love and patiently teaches me to trust Him.

Thank you God that you are who you say you are. Thank you that you leave nothing undone, and that you accomplish your purpose in such ways that bring glory to yourself, even when we fail to understand. Jesus will you graciously teach us to live lives right where we're at that are glorifying to you? Will you help the church today to function in humility and selflessness, with arms reaching and prayers lifted? May we be convicted of our "safe" lives, and may we begin to live with our crosses upon our backs for you no matter what our location. Help us to experience deep joy and help us to dwell in the depths of your grace as we stumble through this life. We love you and thank you Jesus for being the Servant of All. It's in your name we pray, Amen.

Glimpses

Home

I just wanted to inform everyone that I have arrived safely back in my homeland. I will have a post up very soon about the last week in India, and my arrival back home. When I got off the plane, I could not believe how incredible the airport smelled. Call me crazy, but it smelled like vacuum cleaner--incredible. If the Lord lays it on your heart, pray for my transition, and continued nearness to Jesus. Thanks all my faithful supporters and followers, what an encouragement you've been to me the last two months.

P.S. I know the adventure to India's over, but I think I'll keep blogging. Just so you know :)

Beauty

After I prayed for the umbrella to come down from around my heart, I noticed that I began to feel more deeply, to love more deeply, to search more deeply, and to care more deeply. I felt the raindrops press into my heart; I loved when it was hard to love; I prayed that I could search and see more deeply into the souls of the lost; and then I cared deeply--cared to see them know Christ. Because HE knows what He is doing. He says that the rain and snow does not fall without watering the dry ground, and the words of His mouth do not leave and return void, they accomplish that for which He purposed. The rain in Mumbai waters the thirsty ground; but it won't rain forever, no. In the midst of the muddy ground here, there is beauty, for"beauty is the battlefield where God and Satan wage war for the hearts of men." The war, Paul says, is won in the person of Jesus.

This quote reminded me of a lesson that I began to learn before coming here to India. God has really been redefinining my perception of beauty. What's pretty is not always what's beautiful. In fact, this nauseating city is beautiful in a rather backwards way--but in the most true sense of beauty. This beauty has need. This city is beautiful because I looke at its need with no way to meet it, but see only one way to healing: Jesus. I pray that Jesus would rain down His truth here. May it seep through the walls and through the plastic tarps that so many here call "home." May they need His living water, and may it come in abundance. Evil will never reign, for Christ has already claimed victory.

Last Tuesday, I went back to Aruna. I was so excited because I went out again with Zeba. We went back to the brothel that I went to the first week--you know, the one with 6 floors. For some reason, I was really anticipating seeing the same women, but when we entered, I didn't recognize them. We talked with a few women, but were told that there was a police raid just a few days before, and so the madams were not happy that we were in there. As soon as Pinky told us that, it made sense that the women retracted into their rooms or tried to ignore us rather than accepting and even longing for prayer like before.

Finally when we got to the third floor, Zeba reached for my hand. She pulled me toward Dipa's room. I saw Dipa shoot her head out the door and call us in excitedly. I walked in the room and saw her little baby laying in the center of her shanty bed. The last time I was in the room she was very pregnant. Her huband was in there, and her roommate was on the other side of the curtin taking a customer. This time, although she was wearing the same red and black polka-dotted dress, she no longer had little Rija inside of her. This time the curtins were back, and the sun flooded in, making the teal walls visible, and the grime in their little shower area almost as obvious as the dirt dusting the patched, cracked walls. Last time I was there, Dipa was concerned that her pregnancy would not be normal, and I prayed for her health and her husband and her little baby. Turns out, two days later, Dipa went into labor, and Rija was born normally. Only ten days old, Rija weighed probably 4 lbs, and she was the smallest thing I had ever seen. I couldn't tell if her skin was yellow from jaundice or if that was just her Indian skin tone. Only ten days old, she had eye liner painted around her eyes, and a red dot in the center of her forehead.

Dipa said excitedly that my prayers for her were answered. She asked that I would pray for Rija though because she is so small. So I held the hands of Dipa, and Neha (another prostitute who was so eager to receive any kind of love) and prayed for them. I prayed for them to know Jesus' love for them. I prayed for Rija's health. When we were done, Dipa thanked me and I placed my hand on Rija's little belly and said, "Jesus loves you so much, little baby!"

We started talking to Dipa, and I asked Zeba if Dipa knew the Gospel, and if she knew Zeba's story. Zeba said she did know the Gospel and that she went to church some Sundays as well. I pointed to the Hindu shrines above the door, and asked why she had those. Zeba began asking Dipa questions in Hindi, and ended up telling Dipa some of the story of how she was rescued from 5 years of prostitution as a minor, and how Jesus had changed her life. Dipa started fidgeting, and I could tell she was impacted. I asked Dipa if she was happy. She looked up at me, and smiled hesitantly, "Yes, I am. I'm just worried about the baby, that's all." She then let down the smile and looked at the ground. "I don't believe her, I can see her sad eyes..." I told Zeba. Dipa's husband walked in a few minutes before, and that's when she began getting quiet and less excited. After she told us she was worried though, Zeba began singing. She sang the most beautiful song I had ever heard. And it was especially beautiful because at that moment, I knew that Dipa's heart was the battlefield where God and Satan were waging war. God was winning. I didn't know the words that Zeba was singing, but I knew that it was worship, and I could see by the tears that welled up in Dipa's eyes that she was deeply impacted. Everyone in the room listened to Zeba's sweet voice, and the women in the hallway peered in from around the corner. She sung about God being our strength and our hope and our joy and our love. It sang to my heart and sent chills up my arms.

Zeba sang and Dipa was touched. I could tell that she wanted for Jesus to be the light of her life. I could tell that she knew something was missing. As she fidgeted more with the gold ring in her hand, her discomfort spoke volumes, and Zeba knew it too. Before I left that day, Dipa asked if I could come by everyday. Sadly, I told her I coudn't while thinking to myself--surely she is not alone though. Jesus is in a beautiful battle over her heart. Pray that He would win.

No More Umbrellas

It is really shocking to me how much of life here has just become normal. Children begging, old women begging, men staring, taxi drivers overcharging, horns honking, drinking bottled water, spicy food... It's almost disgusting to think that I can forcefully say "no" to young children begging me for money. It's gross to me that I walked into a brothel just 11 days ago and thought to myself--"wow, this one's nice." Here's a little taste into my reality: I carry around a folded bandana so I can wipe sweat off my face throughout the day; I talk often to students on campus about arranged marriages and injustice and religion. So many of things have become "normal" that made me squirm the first couple weeks I was here. This includes the incense burning through the streets, the sad eyes of the street kids, and the vendors yelling "yes, madam, you want?"

It's easy to begin to feel helpless in a place like Mumbai. So much pain. So much deception. So much filth. As I think about it, my eyes well up with tears for the first time in days. The time is passing quickly here, slipping by day by day, and I have felt in the last week, guards going up around my heart. "I can't take this on by myself," I think. So I won't take it on at all. I won't even give it to Abba. I can't even do that because it doesn't seem like "enough." I cry because I walk down the streets looking mad and unapproachable so that I won't be pestered by beggars. As I purchase souvenirs, I ignore the tapping on my arms and the pulling on my skirt from the 6 year olds carrying 6 month olds.

I carry an umbrella now. In the beginning, I would just walk in the rain, embracing it with laughter. I now take out my umbrella as soon as I feel just a drop of water in fear of being drenched for the rest of the day. God has been gracious in showing me these last couple weeks that I have begun opening an umbrella over my soft heart for fear of it being heavy and abused by the mess of Mumbai. You see, when you use an umbrella, you don't feel as vulnerable. You get wet, but only on your ankles and feet--the water is far away. With the umbrella propped up around my heart, the pain is distant. It's the difference between sympathy and empathy. Jesus had compassion. Deep compassion. He wept and He rejoiced. He felt deeply and He loved deeply and He cared deeply. I'm not Jesus, but I am His ambassador. This Jesus that I live for is trustworthy. He is big enough for me to give the pain of this city to. There is nothing in the universe that is outside the realm of His control. He is a just God and it is Jesus that entered into the jaws of evil--into the greatest injustice, so that His children may one day know true justice.

Last week, as I felt like the gaping holes in this city created by sin and rebellion were unmendable, the Spirit corrected me and reminded me of His faithfulness, and His mightiness to save. He sent me down to my knees to beg for the things that I, myself, cannot even begin to change. I still cast my burdens on the Lord and walk on. I walk sludging through Satan's garbage unafraid knowing that Christ will prevail. Out of my distress, I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me free. The Lord is on my side as my helper, I shall look in triumph on those who hate me. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man." (Psalm 118:5-7).

Everyday last week, I looked out the window, and saw the rain dripping from the leaves of the trees, and I thought to myself--"maybe I won't carry an umbrella today. Just let it rain." I've been coming to Jesus at the end of each day, weary and heavy laden, trusting that He alone will give me rest. "Those who wear bulletproof vests protecting themselves from failure, shipwreck, and heartbreak will never know what love is. The unwounded life bears no resemblance to the Rabbi." (Brennan Manning, Abba's Child) I want to love unguardedly; I want to love like Jesus.

With each conversation I hold, I shoot up a quick prayer asking Jesus for His guidance; asking for my removed umbrella and bulletproof vest to keep their places so my heart would stay guarded only by the hands of my Rescuer, by the One who says that "Those who war against you shall be as nothing at all. For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, 'Fear not, I am the One who helps you.'" (Isaiah 41:12, 13) The God who tells me that I can't fee from His presence says that even in India He shall lead me, and His right hand shall hold me. If I say, "surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night," even the darkness is not too dark for Him; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with Him. (Psalm 39:10-12). This is the God that I'm trusting to shield my heart from pain too intense for me to handle.

There have been four people that have been weighing heavy on my heart since we have been here in India: Julie, the prostitute that I met two weeks ago; Sanjay, a homeless, broken, parent less, drug-selling, street-sleeping, ten-year old kid; Niti, a popular third-year college student; and Nipsha, a third year law student who has a heart for justice. I have realized that with my unguarded heart, God has been helping me to love them more recklessly. He has been showing me what it means to labor in love, because none of these people are easy to love, by any means. Jesus has been loving Julie through me, and loving Sanjay through me, and loving Niti through me, and loving Nipsha through me. I walk away from interactions with them so drained, and pained, and heavy, but Jesus has shown me in His kindness that my labor is not in vain.

I think I mentioned in a previous post about how I have been learning more about the fatherhood of God. In this, I have been learning that I am radically defined by His love for me. Sometimes I begin to fall into the lie of believing that my love for Him is one-way, and that if I love Him enough, then He will love me.

One week ago, Friday, Carrie went to the brothel where I had met Julie. When she walked in, she said Julie's face lit up with anticipation, but when she didn't see me, she was sad. Julie asked for me by name, hoping to get to meet with me again. I wondered before if Julie knew that in the ten minutes that I knew her, that I loved her, and after Carrie told me that she remembered me, I knew that Julie knew of my love. I also knew that my love for her was not one-way. She loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

Last week, I had a hard interaction with Sanjay. I had bought him dinner, shared the Gospel with him, and purchased a train ticket for him to go home. It was after I bought him the ticket that he told me he didn't have a home. It was then that he told me out of nowhere that he hated me, and that he wanted nothing to do with me. It was then that he told me he was an evil person and a drug dealer. I know that it was not Sanjay speaking to me, but rather a scheme from Satan, but it scared me. Monday at Bible study, Alyssa and Lauren told me that they saw Sanjay. After admitting that I didn't really want to see him because of the unpredictability of our interaction while still longing to love him well, they told me that he asked for me by name. He told them that I was his friend. He knew that I loved him. It was then that I realized my love for him was not one-way. He loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love he knew, he loved me.

Nipsha was a girl that I hit it off with right away. When we talked about justice together, we fired one another up, and I loved her with a deep love right away. On Sunday, Nipsha invited me to her house. I saw visibly the love she had for her parents that she told me about; but as she spooned food onto my plate, and as she drew henna on my arm, and as she confirmed our next coffee date with one another, I realized that she loved me too. I realized that my love for her was not one-way. She loved me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

And then there's Niti. As I walked through the first weeks of India with a heavy burden for her, lifting up many prayers for her, I experienced much disappointment when she failed to meet with me when she promised that she would. On Monday after a weekend of feeling the weight of this city's mess, but moving to trust Jesus with it, Niti showed up to our coffee date at 1:00. She even cancelled her meetings for the day. She wept as I told her my story, and she warned me that she had never told anyone her story, but that she wanted to tell me everything. As I witnessed her deep trust in me, I realized that my love for her was not one-way. She love me too--with a broken, confusing love--with the only love she knew, she loved me.

What a powerful display of God's kindness. My Father taught me something profound this week. Through broken, confused people, God chose to show me that He loves me. My love for Him is not one-way. He loves me too--with an unbroken, steady love--with all the love He has, He loves me.